


Rushing In, Rushing Out

by Smooty



Series: Good Omens [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a good Husband, Crowley has Depression, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Snuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 18:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smooty/pseuds/Smooty
Summary: Crowley has a nightmare





	Rushing In, Rushing Out

It burned, worse than the coldest wind, hotter than the hottest fire in Hell. It seared through him with a force so powerful it brought him to his knees, forced his head to the floor where he ground his forehead against the rocks. His teeth cracked from the force of his clenched jaw and his fingernails bent back as he scrabbled against the ground. The pain was so immense, so powerful that it felt unreal, like an impossibility. Unfortunately, that thought didn’t last long because how could he think when he was falling?

Wait, he wasn’t Falling-falling, was he? Oh, but it was impossible to think as he streaked downward like a dark shooting star. He should know, he made those. Hung them for Her, as a service to Her. And now he was Falling, because that was the only thing this could be and She was ripping Her love from him bit by torturous bit. That may have hurt worse than the burning but it was impossible to separate the two because they both intertwined and ripped him apart in ways he’d never thought possible.

Then came the sulphuric acid and the  _ real _ Hellfire and he realized he’d been wrong before. Nothing could be hotter than this, this all-consuming, universe-ending heat that settled in his bones and made them crack apart like stones in a fire. His skin melted and grew again, thousands of times until it blackened and hardened like scales. He was remade, reborn in fire and pain as something else, devoid of Her love and Her light. 

And that was the final pain, that loss, the gaping empty hole where She had been and now was obviously, achingly not. He’d didn’t have a word for it yet but later he would call it heartbreak to the highest degree. Like everything good had been scooped out and he’d been left empty and nameless, to burn for eternity. To broil in the heat and flames of Hell, even when he was walking on Her creation thousands of years later, it would feel as if it’d just happened. 

_ Don’t make me _ , he begged internally as his skin split and his blood boiled. There was no escape, he couldn’t move.  _ Don’t make me live like this. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--I didn’t want to-- _

One minute Crowley was burning and the next he was suffocating. Something was over his mouth and body, keeping him pinned in place. Though he didn’t need to breathe the fact that he couldn’t was alarming, especially to his groggy, nightmare filled mind. Crowley liked control and something was taking away that control. He was terrified, and in pain beyond comprehension. 

Slowly as he woke up more and more he realized it was really his collection of blankets and pillows keeping him from moving. One of the feather ones had wedged itself over his face, while his arms and legs were wrapped up in the bedding like a mummy. He must have been trashing around during the night. 

Even though he knew what was keeping him still it didn’t make things any easier. Turning his head enabled him to breathe freely again, and when that happened the hyperventilating began. Black dots danced in front of Crowley’s vision and he wondered if demons could pass out. It felt like it, but he never did. It was a little disappointing, the timeless blackness of unconsciousness would have been a blessing. Probably why he didn't deserve it. 

His arms and legs were still trapped, and no amount of panicked wiggling was going to free him, so Crowley was stuck until he calmed down. Which wasn’t going to happen any time soon because he could still see it, the fire and the Fall, when he closed his eyes and it  _ hurt _ . He could will the hurt away, at least a little if he could focus, but the nightmare was still so fresh and present he half expected to open his eyes and see nothing but flames and smoke.

Something moved by his right hand. It startled him immensely because one of the things he remembered about Falling was that after the actually falling down bit, it had been extremely still. That had been one of the horrors of it, being in so much pain but completely paralyzed. The movement happened again and he was able to twitch his fingers enough to grab at it. He felt the familiar smooth glass of his phone. He liked to be on top of the latest technological advancements, even if they were confusing and infuriating sometimes. 

By some miracle--hah--he was able to maneuver the phone into his hand and turn his head enough to see the screen. Knowing his luck it’d be a telemarketer, or someone from Downstairs finally getting on his case again. When his eyes focused on the screen he was surprised to see a number of missed calls, all from Aziraphale. 

_ 6 new messages _ the screen read, among the other drivel and notifications. Fighting through the pain Crowley unlocked the screen and press the speakerphone button, letting it fall limply aside as the messages began to play in order. 

_ “Crowley! The most interesting little hole-in-the-wall opened up down the road and a customer told me the sever the amazing duck in cherry and red wine sauce and I thought we might try it together. Ring me back” _

He didn’t have the energy to stop it, so the next message played.  _ “It’s me. Haven’t heard from you in a little while, and I just wanted to check up. We can go wherever you like, even one of those blasted clubs you’re always talking about. Alright, talk to you soon dear.” _

_ “Did I do something?” _ The third message started. Aziraphale sounded quiet and sombre like he’d been overthinking things again.  _ Please call me back, Crowley. I’m sorry, for whatever it is. I’m sorry.” _

The fourth was mostly silence, interspersed with the occasional hiccup or sigh or sniffle. When Aziraphale did speak, he sounded incredibly drunk.  _ “C-Crowley, my de--my darling. S’been so long. I keep--I keep thinking that maybe Hell has you--took you away. Oh, Crowley, please call--”  _ The rest of the message was more drunken crying before the machine timed out and the next one played. 

“--owley, we’re calling you to inform you that you are eligible for--” this time he did have the willpower to mash the delete key. He wished he’d never invented telemarketing. The final message clicked on before he even had time to breathe. Despite the fact that the messages were far from pleasant, just the sound of his angel’s voice was calming him down. 

“ _ It’s been months Crowley. I’ve looked for you everywhere. You’re either gone, or you’re in your flat and I--I won’t invade your space. If you want to speak with me, my number will remain the same. Just know that I care for you, and will be waiting for you.” _

It broke his heart, to hear his angel trying so hard to sound like he wasn’t affected. Crowley had heard that exact tone dozens of times: every time Aziraphale turned him down, or pushed him away, or denied there was something between them. He’d heard it when he’d pushed too far too fast and made the angel back away in fear. So many times.

The messages left a clear picture. Crowley had been sleeping for much longer than he intended. When he’ gone down it’d been only for a normal night, but apparently, it’d been quite a few nights. It wasn’t unheard of for this to happen to him, but he’d always gone in with the intent for sleeping for a while. It’d explain why he was so stiff and felt so weak; without the provisions provided by Hell (they had pretty much cut him off after the whole Stopping the End of the World thing) his body was worn and sickly. He wouldn’t die, still couldn’t probably, but he must have looked awful. 

He was calm now, or as calm as he could be. Now that it was easier to think he snapped his fingers and the sheets disappeared entirely, whisked off to some mountaintop in Tibet. Finally, he could move and he did, starting with his toes and working upwards one joint at a time. It hurt, but less than when he’d first woke up. The pain was settling back down to its normal level, more of a background agony instead of a mind-shattering pain. Normal for him, and even that small change was a relief. 

Finally, Crowley was able to sit up against the headboard and miracle up a cup of water and some toast. Later when he was feeling better he’d be able to set himself back to rights, but for now, he needed to take things slow. The toast went down alright, and so did the water, which was a good sign. He was running blind here, having never had to tend to needs, even in this weird, immortal demon sort of way. 

As he munched on the toast, he stared at his phone. That last message had only been left a few minutes ago. It’d been what broke him out of that hole he’d been in, right when he’d woken up. And Aziraphale… well, that was a whole nother situation entirely. Since the end of the world that wasn’t things between them had been different, better. They’d spent days together, sometimes entire weeks. They still had lunch and dinner and nights filled with alcohol, but there was something else there now too. Something Crowley didn’t dare let himself hope for.

Just like always the thought of the things he couldn’t have with Aziraphale made his stomach drop, That reawakened the anxiety from the dream, which had only been temporarily dispelled by his angel’s voice. It probably wouldn’t go away unless he drank himself silly, or if he--

Crowley’s gaze nearly burned holes through the cellphone in his hand. He should call Aziraphale back. It would help calm him down, he knew, just hearing the angel’s voice. But that last message… Aziraphale wanted to speak with him, but did Crowley deserve that? For putting the other through all that pain, for once again disappearing without a word. For being a demon, something unworthy and Fallen and beyond redemption. For well, everything. 

But if there was one thing he knew, it was that he could never deny the angel anything, and he’d begged Crowley to call him so…

The phone had barely rung before Aziraphale picked up. It was suspiciously fast like he’d been waiting by the phone since he left that last message. It was faster than Crowley had been ready for, and it left him stuttering. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, breathless and slightly off-pitch. Crowley knew he should say something but the words were getting stuck in the back of his throat. It occurred to him that he probably should have gotten up and gotten another drink to wash the ashy taste of Hell from his mouth. “Crowley, is that you?”

“Yess,” the demon rasped after a while. His voice was incredibly rough and his throat hurt. Had he been screaming in his sleep? “It’ss me.”

“Oh dear, I’m so glad to hear from you! I will be right over and--”

“No!” Crowley croaked, cutting the other off. “I-I mean, can we--like this?” He really should have thought this through before making the call. But he wasn’t ready to see the angel yet, not until he knew how this was going to play out.

Another pause before Aziraphale answered. “Of course, my darling. Are you--are you quite alright?” No, he thought, but I don’t know what’s wrong. Of course, there was the nightmare and the constant pain but that was all normal. No, he hadn’t felt like this since after their fight in St. James Park, about the holy water. When he’d slept for nearly a century because facing the years with Aziraphale angry with him felt impossible. 

“I don’t know what’ss wrong. Angel I--I didn’t mean to sleep--” He wished he was still asleep. Even the nightmares were better than this. He was all-too-aware of the tired ache in his body and the nagging exhaustion in his brain. “I’m ssorry.”

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asked softly, his voice close to the receiver. He asked gently like it really was a request and Crowley could just hang up any minute. “If this is about how long you’ve been gone, I forgave you the moment I heard your voice again.”

And oh, wasn’t that like a wave of healing over his body. Not the kind that took away the pain, but the kind that smoothed out his rough, jagged edges and made it all more bearable. 

“Still sssorry,” he hissed, clenching his eyes shut and his fights tight. Though his muscles screamed in protest, he curled tighter against the headboard, like he was trying to get away form something. Where he’d been too hot when he woke up from the dream, he was now ice cold and shivering. 

Aziraphale made a disapproving noise over the phone, one Crowley had heard many times. “I think we both know you didn’t intend to be away for so long. I forgive you.” There it was again, like a pulse of love through his entire being that chased away the feelings of despair and desolation.

“Can you...?” It was hard, to ask anything of Aziraphale sometimes. Crowley felt so unworthy. It wasn’t his place to make a request when the angel already gave so much, but he  _ needed _ him here, now he knew he wasn’t angry. He knew it was too much, too fast, but he needed it so badly he couldn’t not say something. 

“Of course, my dear. Shall I get us breakfast on my way over?” Crowley had seen the time when he’d check his messages and it was nowhere near breakfast time. But it was so normal, so Aziraphale, that he couldn’t say no.

“Ssure, yeah,” he hummed, knowing he would probably only pick at whatever Aziraphale picked up. “Coffee?”

“If that’s what you want. I’ll be there soon, Crowley.” He could hear the smile in the angel’s voice.

“Yeah.” Aziraphale ended the call and Crowley let himself slither back down the bed into a prone position. It would take Aziraphale at least half an hour to get to his apartment, maybe longer if he waffled over breakfast options. The demon knew he should get up, take a shower or miracle himself into a presentable appearance instead of clothes he’d been sleeping in for who knows how long. But it seemed like the burst of energy that had enabled him to call the angel back was fading, and getting up seemed monumental. Instead, he rolled over and re-materialized the blankets. He’d get up when he knew Aziraphale was 5 minutes away, he would.   
  


When he opened his eyes again it was only because someone was knocking on his front door. He knew it had to be Aziraphale because he was the only entity in existence who still refused to use doorbells. Crowley groaned and sat up. The polite, but insisting knocking continued. He managed a quick miracle to straighten himself out a bit, and to tidy the apartment. It wasn’t perfect, and he still looked dishevelled, but it was better than nothing. 

Crowley shuffled over to the door and swung it open without hesitation. As he stared at the angel on his doorstep he realized he hadn’t thought to grab his sunglasses. Immediately his gaze trained on Aziraphale’s shoes, eye contact without that usual barrier feeling too difficult.

“My goodness Crowley. I hope this doesn’t come across as terribly rude but you look dreadful!” he fretted, moving his hands, which were full of takeaway bags, like he wanted to smooth the wrinkles from Crowley’s clothes and face himself. 

“Thankss,” Crowley answered dryly, moving out of the doorway so Aziraphale could pass. He knew where the kitchen was and he bustled through to set the bags down, immediately looking through Crowley’s cupboards for plates and cups. “What did you get?”

This felt so normal, even if they didn’t eat at Crowley’s place very often. “Well I’d wanted to try the pancakes but I knew those wouldn’t travel well. They’d be terribly mushy you know. So I went ahead and got a selection of scones and pastries instead. Your coffee is in that bag.” He pointed to a smaller bag on the counter. Crowley went straight to it, pulling both cups out and setting the angel’s tea to the side before sipping his coffee. His tastebud seemed confused at the sudden reintroduction of food and tastes, but again it was nothing compared to that time in the 19th century so he powered through until he was drinking normally. 

“Ssounds good.” Truthfully he didn’t feel very hungry but he knew it was just Aziraphale’s way of providing comfort, and his body definitely needed the sustenance. Sometimes they were frustrating, these human corporations. Especially now that Hell had cut off his connection, though he was still able to do some things it seemed. 

He sat at the breakfast nook--because he never had the need for a full-size dining room, and the angel didn’t like bar seating--with the coffee. Shortly afterward he was presented with a plateful of carb-filled delights and delicate jams. Aziraphale sat opposite him with his own plate, hands poised over the pastries. 

“Well, dig in then my good fellow,” he encouraged, grabbing a scone of his own and taking a bite. “They’re just, well, I would say Heavenly but…”

Crowley gave a mirthless chuckle as he picked up one and took a nibble. It tasted good, but muted, like when you can’t get the recipe just right. He set it back down and took up the coffee again, which was warm at least. The chill from earlier was creeping back in as the silence between stretched. He’d called the angel over here, but did that mean he had to be the one who did all the talking? The idea of having Aziraphale around had sounded good, but in reality, Crowley’s mind was barely functioning and that made things difficult.

“Thanks,” he mumbled around a mouthful of coffee. He was struck with the realization that he hadn’t looked at the date. “How long wass I…”

“8 months,” came the answer. Crowley felt both destroyed at the fact he’d left his angel alone for that long, and relived it wasn’t much, much longer. Aziraphale must have seen the look on his face, because he didn’t dwell. “You said--on the phone, you said something was wrong? Was that what made you feel the need to sleep?”

Crowley shrugged a shoulder. “It’s nothing. It happenss sometimes. I shouldn’t have ssaid anything.” He was regretting this more and more. As inconspicuously as he could, Crowley procured a set of sunglasses and shoved them onto his face. They brought back a small bit of his dignity, and he sat a little straighter. 

“Well I’m glad you did, you sounded so upset, my dear,” Aziraphale sipped at his own drink, pointedly raising an eyebrow when Crowley conjured the glasses out of thin air. Crowley ignored the look. 

“Can we jussst drop it, Aziraphale?” He was beginning to regret waking up. Scratch that, he’d been regretting it for a while now, even if being around Aziraphale was--ugh--nice. Hopefully, Aziraphale wouldn’t be staying too long, he’d like to get back to the darkness interspersed with nightmares, dulled by a couple of bottles of wine of course.

But the angel wasn’t having it. “Can we just--? No, we  _ cannot! _ ” Aziraphale set his drink aside, not even looking at the pastries anymore. 

“Why not? It was just a nap, I was ssstill half-asleep.” His hiss was getting worse again. It often came out when he was upset or angry or drunk. It was embarrassing, not being able to control it and having it slip out and let the other know he was really affected. Crowley didn’t like to seem affected.

“Crowley…” The angel reached over the tiny table to touch, the barest brush of fingers, Crowley’s hand not occupied by the coffee cup. It took a significant amount of self-control not to jerk away. “You seem.. Unwell and I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to but I am willing to listen. Unless you’d rather talk with someone else, I don’t want to pressure you, my dear.”

Why did the angel have to be so  _ nice _ ? Sure Aziraphale could be a bit of a bastard sometimes, and he had many less-than angelic qualities, but when it came down to it he cared so much for everyone and everything. Crowley kind of wished Aziraphale would get angry and give him something to feel defensive about. It’d never happen. 

“I don’t want to talk to anyone elsssse,” he admitted, eyes glued to the table. “There’ss nothing to talk about.”

Aziraphale looked disappointed, but he backed off like he said he would. He didn’t let go of Crowley’s hand though, instead worming his fingers further between the demon’s, holding it for real now. The angel had soft hands and manicured nails, of course. His thumb ran over the veiny back in a soothing motion, though it felt too electric to be fully comforting. He never wanted to let go. 

“If you’re sure, then. I’d like to spend some time with you, still. If you’ll let me. We could go for a walk in the park?” That would interfere with his plans to drink himself into oblivion, but he’d never been able to say no to Aziraphale. 

“If you want, ssure,” he answered, staring at their hands. He wasn’t really up to going out, but he’d do whatever the angel wanted to do. Aziraphale gave their hands one last squeeze before letting go. Crowley immediately missed their warmth. 

“Why don’t you go sort yourself out, and we can go?” Crowley nodded and stood mechanically, heading back to his room to get ready. Sure he could just miracle himself dressed and clean but he wanted to put off actually going out for as long as possible. Luckily this flat had a state-of-the-art en-suite, fitted with an absolutely Hellishly good rain showerhead. With little ceremony, Crowley stripped down and tossed himself under the showerhead then cranked the water on as hot as it could go (which was much hotter than a normal, human shower could go thanks to a little demonic tinkering). 

Crowley’s shower was full of oils and washes and fancy scrubs that he liked to treat himself with on occasion and during his sheds. Right then though, he didn't have the energy to indulge He barely had the energy to stand. In fact, sitting sounded pretty good and he did so, curling up on the bottom of the shower. 

For fuck sake, they had stopped the apocalypse, he should be happy. Instead, he’d slept the better part of the year away, left Aziraphale alone, and still couldn’t do something as simple as have breakfast and go to the park. He dug his nails--dark with chipped nail polish--into his arm and sat in a half-aware state in the bottom of the shower for who knew how long before a knock on the door startled him. 

“Crowley? You have been in there an awfully long time dear and I wanted to make sure you’re alright,” Aziraphale called, concern dripping from every word. Somehow Crowley could hear him as clearly as if he was standing in the shower too, even over the sounds of water. 

He was tired of lying, which was weird because he  _ was _ a demon. But he’d been lying to himself and to his angel for too long. Pretending that everything was going to be alright, that he and the angel would always come out on top. They may have saved the world and all of existence as they knew it, but what was the point, really? Not that he wanted the world and all the humans to not exist, but maybe he’d like that for himself. For a little while. So instead of lying again, he kept quiet, hoping that Aziraphale’s sense of propriety kept him from barging into the bathroom. 

“I’m coming in!” So much for that. Crowley couldn’t help but wrap his arms around himself a little tighter. At some point, his wings had come out and though the shower was decadently spacious, they were still cramped and very damp. He was beyond the point of caring about his nudity, not like he’d made an Effort anyway, but he was a little concerned at how Aziraphale would react to how thin he’d become. “Crowley, what  _ are _ you doing?”

The demon took in a deep breath of warm, wet air then sighed in response. Despite his Hellish nature, his human body was beginning to flush with the heat. It felt like a warm summer’s day compared to the Fall. Apparently, Aziraphale didn’t realize that fact, because immediately he was striding over and shutting the water off with a decisive snap.

“It’s boiling in here, and look at your skin…” Crowley felt the feather-light press of fingertips to his shoulder. “Darling I know you’re a demon but you must be careful with yourself.”

“Doesssn’t matter,” he whispered, jerking away from the kind touch even though all he wanted was the be comforted. His wings flexed and contracted like he was unconsciously trying to soothe himself. “Go away.”

Suddenly he was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, miraculously dry and cozy. His wings were dry as well, though he quickly hid them. They were outside the shower now too a respectful distance apart though Aziraphale looked like he wanted to be closer. Despite the heat Crowley felt himself trembling occasionally.

“Will you come with me Crowley?” he asked, nodding towards the door. Now that he was out and standing, all Crowley wanted to do was sit back down. But the idea of doing that on the bathroom floor was kind of gross, even if he did have regular maid service come in. So he nodded wearily and followed the angel out into the bedroom. 

“Why don’t you lay down, and I’ll go heat up our drinks.” The angel bustled off and left Crowley standing beside the bed. Well, he had wanted to go back to sleep. Maybe when he woke up, this mood would be over. Maybe he’d sleep until the next end of the world. 

He was just getting comfortable when Aziraphale trotted back in, their take-out drinks now cozy in mugs the demon was sure he’d seen at the bookshop. His coffee was placed on the bedside table nearest him and the angel’s tea on the other side. After a few moments of silence, he felt the bed dip slightly with the other’s weight. 

“Is this ok?” Aziraphale asked, not actually getting onto the bed but just leaning his knees against it. Crowley took a long time to answer, torn between wanting to dive into the deep oblivion sleep would provide, and craving the angel’s comfort. Eventually, he jerked his head in a small nod, though he also turned on his side away from the other. 

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, getting fully onto the mattress. Crowley tried not to react as the angel got comfortable under the comforter, but eventually, the temptation of seeing him in whatever pyjamas he’d miricaled up won through the depression and he rolled over. He was greeted with a monstrosity of tartan and flannel material. At least that gave him an excuse not to look the other in the eye. 

“I’m sorry for suggesting the walk,” Aziraphale said softly, looking sadly at the demon. “I’d read somewhere that going out can help humans when they’re feeling… well I should have realized things are a bit beyond that.”

Crowley shrugged. “Wasss a good idea. It’sss me.” Normally it wouldn’t take him this long to bounce back. He’d made it through the Black Plague, the Spanish Inquisition, the advent of Jnco Jeans. He should be able to get past something as simple as the end of the world. 

“It’s alright to be upset, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, looking like he wanted to touch the demon again. His hands were fidgeting in the comforter closer to Crowley’s than was probably necessary. “Though you seemed alright before your… nap. We’d been talking about going to Tadfield and looking for a little cottage.”

_ Oh _ . He’d forgotten that little tidbit entirely, but now it was coming back. Trust Aziraphale to suggest  _ moving to the countryside _ together before getting up the nerve to actually kiss him. Things had been odd after the end, and Crowley hadn’t been 100% sure on where they stood in terms of their together-ness. But apparently, the angel hadn’t had those reserves because, despite the fact they hadn’t even once had a hug longer than 5 seconds, he’d brought up the idea of moving away together over fucking sushi. Crowley had been confused, elated, nervous, and strangely teary-eyed at the proposition.

“Ngk,” Crowley said, because really how was he supposed to deal with all that on top of everything else today? The angel’s hands stilled as he watched Crowley struggle to respond. 

“Is that what this is about? Because, my dear, it would be fine if Tadfield isn’t to your liking, or even if you don’t want to--” Crowley made another noise, something kind of like a grunt but more tired. “Wrong again?”

Though the idea of moving in with Aziraphale and the uncertainty of their relationship had been stressful, Crowley hadn’t even remembered about it until now. No, it was becoming clear that his current state, and the state that had caused him to sleep for so long was more complicated than that. 

“It’sss… a lot,” Crowley mumbled into his pillow, fingers playing with the edge of the case. “I dunno what exactly…”

“And this has happened before?” Aziraphale asked, sinking a little lower in the bed so he was nearly laying down. Crowley nodded. “After our tif in St. James?”

“And after the Arc, and WWII.” There’d been more times than that, but those were the most significant. The Arc had been the first time he’d seen death on that scale mandated by Her even though she was meant to be loving. Their fight had come at a bad time, when he was already feeling quite off after a particularly nasty job in southern Spain. And WWII, his first time seeing a modern war in all it’s horror…

Aziraphale’s hand was getting closer. Crowley didn’t pull away. “You never said anything.”

“Didn’t want you to fuss.” The more they talked the calmer he felt. His hiss disappeared and his mind focused slightly. 

“Everyone deserves to be fussed over when they’re feeling ill, Crowley,” Aziraphale hummed. Slowly, so slowly Crowley almost didn’t notice, the angel moved his hand so their fingertips were touching. This time Crowley was ready, and so, so in need of comfort that he didn’t pull away. 

“I had a nightmare.” He focused on the feeling of skin touching skin. “A-about when I--about Falling.”

Aziraphale slipped his fingers closer into Crowley’s palm as he kept talking. “It felt so real, and it--I woke up but it still hurt. It always hurts but not like  _ that. _ ” He hadn’t told Aziraphale that before. He wasn’t sure if the angel knew that all demons carried that pain around, but judging by the way his eyes softened in sadness, he hadn’t.

“I’m so sorry, darling. You don’t deserve to suffer so.”

That almost made Crowley laugh. “I’m a demon, angel.” Immediately Aziraphale’s hand was sliding past his palm and to his wrist, gripping lightly. 

“You are. But you are also very caring, and you feel things deeply, and you are so empathetic to every living thing. You are so lovely, Crowley, so good.”

Crowley froze completely, eyes wide and staring at their hands. Did Aziraphale know that that was the first time anyone had  _ ever _ \-- Well, the angel was really hitting him with a lot of curveballs today. “What?”

At least the other had the awareness to sound sheepish. “Too much?”

“N-no,” Crowley stuttered, shuffling just a little closer. Something inside him shifted. This had been Hell, but he was starting to feel glad he’d called Aziraphale. Even if he didn’t want to actually deal with all of this, and would rather be sleeping, Aziraphale’s presence was making it bearable. Not to mention some of the stuff he was saying, and the things he was doing with his fingers against the delicate skin of Crowley’s wrist. 

“Good. Could I…? Unless it’s too much…” The stroking against his wrist stopped and Aziraphale edged closer. “I would very much like to give you a hug, my dear.”

Honestly, he didn’t know if he could handle it, but he  _ really _ wanted to try. With a slight nod, Aziraphale began to move even closer, a smile on his lips. Crowley felt his warmth now, different from the scalding heat of the shower in all the best ways. The angel was obviously wary, given how he’d reacted to his previous touches. Crowley steeled himself, tensing up in the expectation the touch would be too much again but was surprised to find the gentle press of Aziraphale’s arms around him quite relaxing.

“Alright?” Aziraphale asked, his face somewhere by Crowley’s neck. The demon answered by resting his own arms around Aziraphale’s waist and nuzzling into his collar. The full-body shudder that accompanied their new closeness only cemented the point further. Soon enough, Crowley and Aziraphale were pressed as close together as possible, the angel shielding Crowley from the outside world as best he could. For Crowley, the gentle touch was relieving; everywhere they touched the pain and burning from The Fall felt that much less intense.

“S’nice,” he mumbled, tightening his hold on the back of Azirphale’s pyjamas. 

Aziraphale chuckled. “A four-letter word? I’ll take that as high praise, my love.” The affectionate name tacked onto the end was very, very new and it made Crowley blush. 

“Your what?” he asked, voice strangled and now he really was going to cry. Hot tears ran down his cheeks, soaking the angel’s shoulder and making Crowley’s eyes sting. He desperately hoped he hadn’t misheard, but he didn’t know what to do if he’d heard right. 

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, and the demon felt soft lips pressing to his forehead like Holy Water, but cool and refreshing. “I had hoped you knew, but I’ve been so foolish. I love you, dear boy. And I will be here as long as you need me, forever, even.”

Crowley choked and gasped, grabbing so tight his nails bit into skin through the angel’s bedclothes. “You can’t--Forever--I-I, I’ll be--”

Aziraphale hushed him, but Crowley knew he knew what he meant. Maybe they could talk about it tomorrow or in a few days. Whenever this feeling of deep sadness and exhaustion passed they could go for that walk. And then, after a little while longer maybe Crowley would be feeling up to going for dinner again. And eventually, he’d been feeling well enough to go back to normal, though things wouldn’t really be normal anymore, not now that he knew Aziraphale would be there to help him. He’d spent so long,  _ so so long _ on his own with only the briefest meetings, the barest of touches, and the hint of friendship. 6000 years with Aziraphale outside his grasp and now he had him, and the angel wanted to help him. It felt like forgiveness, even if he knew he was well beyond that. 

“Get some more rest, love. I’ll be here,” Aziraphale assured him, tucking Crowley’s head under his chin. Crowley nodded, his sobs died down to something that was definitely not a sniffle. Aziraphale smelled like warm baked goods and book glue. “Tomorrow I’ll go out and get some fresh pastries unless you’d prefer something else? How does that sound?”

Crowley was already half asleep, his eyelids heavy and drooping. “Mmm. Ssomething warm…” Aziraphale was rocking them slightly, the smooth sway lulling the demon further into that peaceful place. 

“Whatever you want, my dear,” Aziraphale answered, slipping his own eyes shut. They definitely needed to have a little chat about all this, when Crowley was feeling more like himself, but Aziraphale could wait. They had all the time in the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at https://our-smooty.tumblr.com


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